Currently Chasing: The Rebound

Up for the REBOUND, REBOUND, REBOUND, up for the REBOUND, let’s go!

In high school it was a cheer for basketball. In my adult life, it’s a daily affirmation. You’ve always got to be up for the rebound.

I have to make a confession here. In my life, there are very few times when I’ve ever been truly single. I mean, of course there were tons of times when I haven’t had a boyfriend. But there are few times when I’m left without someone to text, call, email or send a picture message to. I’ve been rebounding since I broke up with Abel back in 6^th grade.

The process has been endless. I literally just started to make a list of people I’ve used to get over other people and as it turns out I would have had to make a list of lists. I’m a rebounder. Every single relationship I’ve ever been in has been a rebound. I’m clearly not clear on the point of a rebound.

Thank God for a friend of mine who blogged recently about the true definition of a rebound (and made this incredibly awesome chart.) Turns out I have been doing it all wrong. You are not supposed to fall in love with a rebound. You kind of aren’t even really supposed to like a rebound. They have a very specific purpose. They are purely there to get you over a hump.

I’m not alone here. I’m like a lot of girls who feel like it’s not possible to break up with a guy who is ‘just barely meeting the standard’ until you have another guy who is ‘just barely meeting the standard’ but to a slightly higher degree. Instead, we should simply be walking away from these relationships. Not walking toward something that’s barely better.

Like … “Ok, are you sure you want me? Because I’m about to break up with my boyfriend, but only if you promise that you want me. Otherwise, I’m staying with this guy who doesn’t know I exist and hates my kids.”

So technically right now I am single. Or widowed if you checked my relationship status on Facebook (yes, he’s dead to me.) And for the past week and a half or so, I’ve been ‘widowed.’ There wasn’t someone waiting in the wings in case it didn’t work out. There wasn’t someone else I would have rather have been with. There was just him. All my eggs in one basket. All of them rotting without my knowledge. This is a new feeling for me. And this would be a perfect time for a rebound.

Someone temporary. Someone I won’t end up falling in love with. The problem is, for me, THAT IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE. I once went to Cancun, Mexico for a week. On the first day I met a guy at the bar. He was leaving the next day. We had an incredible time together, exchanged numbers, planned to visit each other, and I spent the rest of the week writing him letters about how much I missed him. That’s not me rebounding. That’s me being insane.

I remember every single hook up I’ve ever had. No matter how casual. And none of them have felt like rebounds. They have all felt like legitimate attempts at having a relationship. I guess in the end, even though I could use a rebound (in its rawest form) they kind of seem like a waste of time. Because I know myself, and I’m going to need a fucking rebound to get me over my damn rebound.

Or maybe my friend isn’t exactly right-on with her definition of a rebound. When was the last time someone threw up a shot, missed, caught the rebound, and then just tossed the ball out of bounds? Never. You catch the rebound and immediately take another shot with it. Maybe that shot will be the swish you were hoping for. And if that next shot happens to hit the rim as well, maybe you just shouldn’t get up for the rebound.

Currently Chasing: Alanis, circa 1995

There’s a few things that YOU YOU YOU “Outta Know.”

I’m single again. Hmmm. I don’t feel a difference. I guess when you’re only really in a relationship for a few weeks it’s hard to notice. Except that at lunch I only had one plate of Chinese. I usually go up for seconds. NOT THIS TIME. Break up diet. Here I come.

Here are a few of the last messages he sent to me:

“Will you marry me? I can’t wait to put a ring on you baby.”

“You’re all I really think about.”

“You are so good. You have me through whatever happens. You have such a good heart and I want it to belong to me.”

And it did. Until he gave it back. This morning. In an email, as some sort of attachment. Like, nevermind, I thought I wanted this … turns out it was just borrowed, but he returned it broken. So who is going to pay for this shit!

I’m not a hard woman to love. But I guess I’m also not a hard woman to unlove. Of course he wants to be friends. Have you seen my facebook lately? I have 800 friends dude. And none of them like what you’ve done.

On June 18 he tells me that words can’t explain how much he misses and loves me and then on June 20^th he is telling me that I’ll always hold a special place in his heart, but it’s goodbye? And people wonder why I’m all fucked up. I even took a vow of celibacy. I’m surrounded by swinging dicks, and I was going to block every cock.

But a friend said it best … finding out that he was the wrong one after only a few weeks is a gift. Finding out after years and years of marriage is torture. The thing is, it still doesn’t feel like he’s the wrong one. It just feels like the wrong time. But thinking like that has kept me in past relationships for far too long and I can’t travel down that road anymore.

If I wanted a man who isn’t sure he wants me I’d just go back to my ex. Heck, I might do that anyway. It seems these days everyone is just settling for whomever is closest.

The feeling I feel right now is not unfamiliar. I’ve felt it before. I’ll feel it again. I want to just scream at the top of lungs “EVERYTIME I SCRATCH MY NAILS DOWN SOMEONE ELSE’S BACK I HOPE YOU FEEL IT.”

Cause he said some really magical things to me. But he’s a good writer. And a wizard so it seems. And he wrote his way right back out of all those magical things. Yet in the same paragraph told me that it was meant for us to fall in love so we could know it really existed.

AND ISN’T IT IRONIC. DON’T YOU THINK?

Because immediately after reading his words I was certain it didn’t exist. The last think I needed in my life to prove that love existed was for a man to enter it, promise me the world, tell me I was his dream girl, ask me to marry him, and then break my heart with the line, “I did this so you would realize true love is possible.”

ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW?

Hello Olive Garden, are you there? It’s me. And I need you to have some pasta and Mascato waiting for me STAT! Because you are my only true love. And I’d even go down on you in a theater.

P.S. (I know I’m making light of this situation, but two things remain true. I am actually in real pain over this situation. And I would go down on Fettuccini Alfredo in a theater.)

Currently Chasing: Weight-loss Sex

So if you know me then you know that I’m always looking for great and unconventional ways to lose weight. I’ve tried the Atkins Diet, the soup diet, the detox diet, the cookie diet and the vegan diet. I’ve taken dexatrim, slim fast, Xenadrine, Hydroxy Cut, Phen fen and Phentermine. I’ve joined Jenny Craig, Nutri-Sytem and Weight Watchers.

So recently when I noticed that a friend of mine was continually posting photos of herself become increasingly thinner and sexier, I finally had to ask … What the fuck are you on?

Sex, she said.

Turns out about a year ago my friend’s husband decided he needed a break. He moved out and left my friend and her children to figure things out on their own for awhile. Initially, the break devastated my friend, and sent her to that place where women hate and love to be, the “not able to eat” zone. That started the weight loss.

Eventually though she embraced her new semi-single status, and she also embraced what was quickly becoming a body she hadn’t seen since high school. However, she still wasn’t feeling very sexy.

All that changed when men started coming out of the wood works. From 19-42, she had a buffet laid out in front of her. She began taste testing. A little 19 year old here, a little 25 year old there, until she had established a menu she was more than happy to order from daily.

When the hunger pains would kick in, she would call one of her entrées over to both feel and fill her up. With every conquest she felt more sexy. Until finally a man who she was truly interested in took notice. HER HUSBAND.

He had also noticed this change in her body and her attitude. He noticed that she was feeling sexier and more confident. He saw that she was doing just fine on her own. She wasn’t calling him as much, and she was running off to Vegas with friends without so much as a text message to him. She was fazing him out. So he decided to put himself back on the menu.

So with this last picture she posts I finally have to ask …

“How does your body keep getting finer?”

“I don’t know, must be my five lovers and the workouts they give me,” she said.

“So you’re telling me that not only is sex great for weight loss, but also muscle toning?” I asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she said.

“Is there any one lover better than another?”

“I work the most with the 25 year old, but the 21 works me the most. The husband has the biggest dick. The 42 year old is just a really great lover all around. I’m currently on a break with the 19 year old. The 25 year old is who I’m with the most. I always get mine and love that he is ready to go again after only 10 minutes.

So I ask her why she doesn’t just keep the 25 year old and dump the rest. She asked why she should do that. You don’t always feel like eating the same thing every night. I guess sometimes you want something sweet, and sometimes you want something spicy. And she’s got a plethora of flavors.

As much as I love her body, the sex method is not going to work for me at this point. But I’m sure the “overseas diet” I’m about to embark on will do just as good of a job. I hate eating in foreign countries because I don’t eat anything unless I know for sure what it’s made of. No goat cheese pizza for me, thanks. Unfortunately, forced starvation doesn’t sound anywhere near as fun as the weight-loss program my friend is currently on. However, with this new vow of celibacy I’m overdosing on lately, food will continue to be the only thing ending up in my bra at the end of the night.

Currently Chasing: A Break

I've complained a lot about hating the District of Columbia. When my friends ask me to meet them anywhere near there, I cringe. When I know I'm going to have to park, I take anxiety medication. If I know I'm going anywhere near Dupont Circle, well, I just shoot myself in the face.

Even my GPS tells it like it is. I type in an address in DC and right away it says, preparing to get . LOST!

But for two months before I left Maryland, something wonderful happened. I started learning my way around DC.

So when my friend asked me to meet her near the Pentagon (and then jump on the metro to China Town) I said cool. I can do that. I can find the Pentagon. I own the fucking Pentagon. There was essentially no traffic on my way into DC and I was feeling good about the trip. I arrived to the Pentagon in record time and we proceeded to make our way to the metro.

I don't take the metro a lot, so I had to get a pass. I put my twenty in the machine, typed in how much I wanted to add to my card, and stood by. ERROR. The machine didn't have enough change for my twenty. Ok fine, I have a ten in my purse, just give me back the twenty and I'll use the ten. But the refund button wasn't working, and all of a sudden the machine said, out of bills, and that was that. My money never came back out. I HATE DC.

I tried to calm down. My friend knew I was heated. She offered to give me the twenty bucks. I said forget it, used a different machine, got my card, and we're off.

Dinner was great. She didn't eat much because she had just been dumped via Facebook (more to come on that later) so she was feeling all broken up with, which translates to, I'm not eating shit because my stomach is already full . OF PAIN.

After dinner, we went back to our vehicles. I drove home. Easy Peezy.

About a month later, I head back out to DC to have dinner with another friend. In fact, it was memorial weekend and she wanted to meet at the Hudson. I'd never been there, but I took a chance. I drove out there, found a great place to park, walked a couple of blocks to the restaurant, and proceeded to have an awesome meal.

My friend even paid the $71 tab (which was unexpected) and I was feeling so good about the evening that I tipped the parking attendant $15. I drove out of the lot and could feel I was getting lost. But low and behold I just followed my instincts (which for once didn't steer me in the wrong direction . literally) and viola, I was out of DC and back on the 50 headed home.

I felt like I had conquered the world. DC, you are my bitch. I might even be able to find my way into George Town to visit my girl Dee. I mean, I'm king of the fucking world.

So my friend J is renting out my condo while I'm gone, and she calls me up last weekend to deliver some news. I had been caught speeding on New York Avenue by a traffic camera in May and it was going to cost me $50. The camera photographed my vehicle and that picture was sent along with the ticket. I couldn't really see my face in the photo due to the fact that I was looking down, most likely because I was texting.

Well that's bullshit DC, but you know what, I'll pay your $50 because I'm a patriot and I know the money will most likely go to a good cause, like more traffic cameras. So I tell J to just go ahead and pay the ticket and take it out of the rent. She says ok. The next day she calls me and tells me that another ticket came. This time it was for April.

Are you kidding me! So basically the only two times I felt comfortable going to DC and I got speeding tickets both times! And she tells me that they already sent one notice (no they fucking didn't) and so this ticket was doubled. $100!

"What do you want me to do?" she said. "Just pay it and take the money off the rent?"

"Fuck no! Send me the fucking information and I'm going to tell those assholes I'm not fucking paying that shit! They never sent me anything and fuck them."

"Are you sure you want to deal with it?" she asked. "I could just pay it for you and you'd be done with it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked. "That place is a fucking miscarriage! I am going to call them and tell them I'm a fucking patriot! I HATE DC. I'm going to give them a piece of my mind. What were the dates again? I wasn't even in fucking DC during those times! I never speed. Someone else was driving my car. And the metro took my money! And the steak was a little tough. FUCK DC."

"So I should go ahead and pay it then?" she said calmly.

"Yeah, but write fuck you in the comments."

How motivated are we by money?

Have you ever paid for sex? And I’m not talking about in relationships where you feel like you’re paying dearly. And I’m also not referring to the thousands of dollars women drop on IEDs. Impossible to Emulate Devices.

What I’m really talking about is paying cold hard cash for the mash.

And would you be willing to pay your spouse for sex if it somehow improved your love life? I mean, do we really ever do anything that won’t somehow make us money? I think we can all agree we are a society motivated by money.

So why did I find it odd the other day when I heard about a woman who charges her husband for sex. She made up a sexual menu. He could have whatever he wanted on the menu, even Rump Roast. The only thing she asked in return was that he paid for his selections. Every sexual act came at a cost.

I also read a magazine article that suggested men pull out $200, lay it on the nightstand, and tell their ladies they can ‘earn it.’ The article said that most of the time women feel obligated to have sex. But by showing them the money, that gives them a WIFM (What’s in it for Me) they can’t refuse.

Some guys feel like they are paying for sex one way or another, so why not just pay for the kind that doesn’t have three kids from a previous marriage and $400,000 in student loans attached to it. I can’t say I completely disagree with this theory. I’ve never paid money for sex. But my heart has had to pay a hefty price more than once when it came to falling for men who only really wanted a sexual relationship. I wish they would have just ‘put the money on the nightstand.’ At least then I would have known exactly what I was in store for.

Then there are the guys who pay … and don’t feel like they got their monies worth. A friend of mine bought the bed I currently own. I’m sure he didn’t plan originally on just doing that out of the kindness of his heart. I mean, when is the last time someone bought you a bed that they weren’t planning to share with you? I’m sure he’d of rather taken that money to Baltimore. At least there he could pay to play.

Plenty of my guy friends have admitted to having paid for sex, but it’s all the same awkward “I only did it once” story.

“We were in a foreign country and I couldn’t understand what she was saying and by the time I realized, I had already fucked her, so I had to pay.”

Or …

“She would have done it for free, but I felt bad because she is saving for medical school.”

Or my personal favorite …

“I thought I was just giving her a ride home, and then all of a sudden she asked if I had the money and I didn’t, but by then I felt like I was under contract, so I went to an ATM and got the money … but it’s not like I wanted to do it, especially when half way through our business some guy came into the room and asked if she’d be able to drive him to the liquor store later. Awkward.”

Yes, awkward. But which part? The part where you didn’t want to do it, but physically left the house to get money? Or the part where she was 350 pounds of paid for love?

But really, who am I to judge? And my conversation with a good friend pretty much summed it all up for me today.

“There are people paying for sex? Who are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know, just people,” I told him.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Where are they going to get it?”

The bank my dear. The bank.

Cheaters never prosper

So, I’ve taken a bit of a different stance on cheating lately. I used to just think that getting cheated on, and cheating on someone was part of life. This idea came mostly from watching my mother treat marriage like it was full time opposite day. And from my last serious relationship where my ‘boyfriend’ always forgot to mention he had a girlfriend. I guess saying so would have kept girls off his dick, and I’m guessing that wasn’t the goal.

But lately I’ve been realizing that meaningless sex is as satisfying as a mostly fatty steak. Sure the 20 percent in the middle is good, but look at the price you are paying for an 80 percent useless piece of meat! It’s just not worth it.

I’ve left a lot of 80 percent well done to chomp on some expensive 20-percent piece of shit. And I’m tired of wondering where the beef is.

I’ve had it all wrong. I’ve always thought that as long as the other person doesn’t find out, or as long as you don’t let your cheating affect the person you are with, then fuck it, why not. It’s just sex. And sex doesn’t have anything to do with love. It’s just an activity. Like golf. Holes and Strokes. But unlike golf you don’t get a mulligan. If you hit the ball into the rough, you’ll have to play it where it lies.

And I’ve lied in some pretty shitty places, and to some pretty innocent faces. And I’m tired. I’m tired of being untrustworthy. And to be honest, I’m tired of the Karma that shit brings. I’m ready to love and be loved in return. BY THE SAME PERSON.

I cheated once a few years back with this guy. I knew he was a play boy, but he said things I liked to hear and I wanted to believe him. We wouldn’t exactly keep in touch, but every now and then he would just pop back into my life with some crazy talk.

“Baby, you and I have such a connection. What if we just really tried to make this work,” he would say.

“Really. Like you honestly want to try and build a relationship?” I would respond.

“Yes, are you crazy? Of course I do, you are so amazing in every single way,” he said.

“Wow, ok, let’s really try,” I would reluctantly spit out.

“Ok, well I’m dating a girl right now who lives across country. I’m going to go get my shit from her place and end it with her and then you and I can be together. But I don’t want to make it official until then,” he would say … backpedaling.

Are you fucking kidding me? What did that experience do for me? Nothing. Just fuck with my emotions and cause me to cause pain to someone who actually gave a shit about me.

My point is, before you decide that you deserve to disrespect the person you love by hooking up with whoever is willing to do you, think twice. Jessie is begging Sandra back as I type this … But he’ll never get to play that back nine ever again. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but even Tiger thinks his game sucks lately. Coincidence?

Currently Chasing: Pineapples

So when it comes to semen … is it really true that what you eat can change how you taste below the waist? And does penis or ball size have anything to do with the taste or consistency? Will fruit and veggies make a man taste like a dream? Do heavy meat eaters taste like nightmares? I guess yes, if nightmares taste like battery acid.

These are the questions that go through my mind lately as I’m sitting through boring power point briefs. This is what I think about while the rest of the world is busy being productive members of society.

I’ve heard a lot of talk recently about pineapple. But let’s be clear. You can’t just eat a piece of pineapple and then think you’re going to taste like a fucking sweet tart. Chances are, unless you are eating it, or drinking its juices on the regular, you are still going to taste like Ajax.

Semen for the most part is never going to taste like a bowl of fruit loops. If you are expecting a mouth filled with warm almond butter, you’ve got another thing ‘coming.’ However, letting your man get to that point and then just throwing a towel at him, or worse, throwing up on him, just won’t do.

This was the case for a friend of mine.

“So I’m with my girlfriend last night and she went down on me for the first time,” he said.

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“No. It really wasn’t,” he quickly added. “I could feel that I was about to come and then all of a sudden she just … moved. But I was already so close to coming, so it just kind of happened.”

“Oh, um … did she get you a towel?” I asked.

“Yeah, but does that even matter?” he asked.

“Well did you talk to her about it?” I asked.

“Hell yes,” he said. “But she told me she just doesn’t like the taste.”

And there it is. The taste. My favorite episode of sex in the city deals with this exact subject.

Samantha is going down on a man and he comes in her mouth. Right away you can see by the look on her face that the taste equated to milk gone bad. The next time they are together, she refuses to go down on him. He asks her why. She tells him that he has funky spunk. He doesn’t believe her. So she tells him she will do it one more time and let him taste it. If the taste is good enough for him, then it’s good enough for her. He agrees. She goes down. He comes. She lets him taste it. The look on his face confirms that his jizz tastes like sweaty pit cheese. But he chokes it down and whispers, “It’s good enough for me.”

But sometimes the taste isn’t the only problem. The consistency and amount are also common complaints. My friend was talking to me about her husband. She said his penis is only three inches (HARD) but his balls are huge. She said she doesn’t have a problem with swallowing except that his cum is very watery and there is A LOT of it. Sometimes she has to swallow mid way through. Wow. I do not envy her one bit. But I’ve also met men who can’t come at all due to medication and mental blockers…so what’s worse? Funky spunk, too much spunk, watery spunk, lumpy spunk or no spunk … Let’s be honest. I think it’s the three inch (HARD) cock.

The point is if you expect your woman to finish the ‘job’ then try to sweeten the deal. Try eating right, try lifting a weight or two. But in your attempt to down fruits and veggies, avoid asparagus. From what I hear, that makes you taste like … well, asparagus. Towel please.

Currently Chasing: The Future

Have you ever been waiting in line to have your blood drawn and you see someone in line ahead of you and think to yourself … do I know him? Did we possibly have sex in 1997? And then think … Nope, wow. Definitely not. It was 1998, the year my drink of choice was Tequila on the rocks. Every night.

Yeah, that never happened to me either. Except that it did. Today.

It’s always a little strange when you see an old lover. It’s especially strange when you see two in one day and they are friends. That never happens to me either. Except that it did. Today.

Holy fuck! They say it’s a small world, but really? This small? We all just happened to be having our blood drawn in the very same place in fucking hot ass Mississippi? Damn you tiny little world. You really are like an annoying ride at Disney.

My question is it possible to be just friends with old lovers? A friend of mine blogged about this exact subject, and I’ll say the same thing now that I said then. Yes. But no. I mean, the words, “Let’s catch up were coming out of both of their mouths,” but all I was hearing was “Wow, remember that time…”

I mean, at this point they are both married and you all know from my last post that I’m in love with a man that I’m going to see again in about 400 days.

But still, here they were. Bites from my past reminding me that I eat too much. Reminding me that there were so many times in my life that I’ve thrown caution to the wind. Reminding me that there are things in my past that I’ve even lied to my diary about.

So I get a text later from one of my old lovers and he writes …

“What’s up for later? I’d like to catch up.”

To which I respond, “Not much, dinner probably.”

To which he replies, “What’s on the menu …”

And I quickly text back “Not me, just so you know.”

“Well Duh,” he says.

“Well … I know you,” I say.

What are old lovers anyway but friends who just weren’t boyfriend or girlfriend material? To be honest, I’ve shared more intimate moments with my television programs. And at some point all your favorite shows come to an end. Usually with a pretty mediocre finale. And once you’ve seen the season play out, there usually isn’t much time left in life for reruns.

So I decided not to throw this into the coincidence bank and instead think about the possible reasons for it. So early on my long journey and I’m already taking steps backward down memory lane? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I needed a glimpse into my past to remind me to stay focused on my future.

When I turn around there are plenty of old ‘seasons’ I could rewatch. Truth is I’d just like to keep adding episodes of my current program.